


Draw Back Your Bow

by anythingbutplatonic



Category: Glee
Genre: Arrow AU, M/M, Vigilante!Kurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutplatonic/pseuds/anythingbutplatonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Arrow AU. By day, Kurt Hummel is the son of a billionaire Congressman and proud owner of one of the Big Apple’s most prestigious new fashion houses. By night, he is something else; calling himself the Arrow, he enacts justice on New York City’s dark criminal underworld, ridding the street of crooks and gangsters and keeping the people of New York safe. </p><p>Then he crosses paths with one of his employees in the most unlikely way possible, and the attraction is instantaneous. But no-one can know who Kurt really is, and that means keeping his distance from any and all romantic entanglements. Doesn’t it?</p><p>(Title taken from the Arrow episode of the same name, 3x07)</p><p>Originally posted on Tumblr December 23rd 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Back Your Bow

_He jumped easily onto the east-facing second-floor balcony of Anderson and Griffiths Legal Practice on West and 23rd, landing with barely a sound. All the lights in the building were off except for one, which indicated the location of his target, an office on the second floor where a large green pot plant stood in the window. He could see him through the glass, currently sitting typing at his desk in the half-light from a single lamp, a cup of coffee abandoned at his elbow. He wore a pair of glasses low on his nose and his tie was loose, laying limp around his neck. So this was the scumbag responsible for the theft of thousands of innocent people’s dollars, all in the name of legal representation._

_He wouldn’t be expecting a visit tonight. They never did._

_With practised movements, he bent and kicked through the glass, hard shards and splinters crashing to the floor and bursting outwards. Stepping through the large hole he’d made, he barely gave his target time to react before he sprang forward, drawing his bow tight and raising it high, the arrow quivering where it pointed right at the lawyer’s heart._

_“Jonathan Anderson,” he said. “You have failed this city.”_

***

Kurt was late.

Very, very late.

Yanking on socks while he waited for his toast to pop up out of the toaster, he cursed himself for being so stupid, for sleeping in when his alarm didn’t go off and for waking up a whole  _three-quarters of an hour_  later than he should have. 

He was so, so late.

He had a meeting that morning, the whole company was coming, representatives from every department - design, security, IT, journalism, events management, you name it, they were going to be there - and as the owner and CEO of Hummel Inc., he was expected to be there. 

Except, of course, he  _wasn’t_  there - and the meeting started in fifteen minutes. 

 

Kurt hurriedly gulped down a glass of orange juice while using his free hand to button his shirt - pale lavender with white buttons - and pulled a brush through his hair, spraying it quickly with hairspray and praying to a deity he’d never believed in that it would hold. He ate his toast in three huge bites, brushed his teeth in record time, and was still tying a silky black scarf around his neck as he raced for a taxi, jacket lapels flapping in the breeze.

He made it just in time; panting, he swept into the conference room, shrugging off his jacket and trying to catch his breath so that he could apologize profusely for his tardiness.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m so sorry - my alarm didn’t go off - I apologize for keeping you all waiting - shall we get started?”

It was then that he realized the conference room was - empty. There was no-one there. 

_What the hell-?_

Was he in the wrong room? Did they hold the meeting without him? Was he really  _that_ late?

Right on cue, Rachel appeared. His longtime best friend and close confidant, Rachel Berry was his PA and pretty much his lifesaver. She’d taken time out from the musical theatre world several years ago, and Kurt had graciously offered her the chance to work for him at the Fashion House. Although she could be incredibly irritating - even after all these years, her inner Broadway diva had never really gone away completely - she was also his oldest and closest friend, and knew everything there was to know about him.

Well. Not  _everything_.

“Rachel,” he said slowly, trying to halt the rising tide of annoyance building inside him, “where is everyone?”

“Well, you were really late, Kurt,” Rachel replied, her face apologetic. “They had the meeting without you. Santana stepped in, since she’s your second-in-command.”

Kurt squinted at her. “Did she make anyone cry?" 

"No, I don’t think so. But Kurt - why  _were_  you so late? It’s not like you to be tardy.”

“No-one uses the word "tardy” any more, Rachel,“ Kurt sighed. "And I just…slept in. It was an accident.”

_He hadn’t stayed more than ten minutes. The terror on Jonathan Anderson’s face had been more than enough to reassure him that the man wouldn’t be pulling any more stunts or elaborate bribes to cheat good people out of their money._

_For good measure, he shot an arrow just an inch to the left of his ear, where it sank into the wall behind him and vibrated ominously before stilling._

_He’d been lucky it hadn’t gone through his shoulder. He could have done it, if he’d wanted to. But the threat was enough._

“Don’t make a habit of it.” Rachel said primly. “Now, I have your schedule here for the rest of the day,” she handed him a red folder with several sheets of paper inside it, “and your large coffee with extra sugar and extra espresso shots, because I figured that since you were late, you could do with the added pick-me-up.” She handed him the take-out cup, which he gratefully accepted; the aroma wafting from the small hole in the lid was enough to make his senses awaken and his body thrum to life.

“Rachel, have I told you yet this week how much of a lifesaver you are?" 

Rachel preened. "No. But it wouldn’t hurt to hear it….”

As they walked in the direction of Kurt’s office, Rachel kept talking, reeling off a whole list of things that required his attention and required his attention  _now_. 

She cut off suddenly to ask, “Why is there a cut on your forehead?”

“Sorry?” Kurt stopped in his tracks, giving her a confused look. 

“There is a cut,” Rachel repeated slowly, “on your forehead. And it’s bleeding.”

Kurt put a hand to his forehead and felt a warm dampness; he pulled his fingers away and they were red with what was indeed blood.  _Shit_. In his hurry that morning, he must have forgotten to check in the mirror above the sink to make sure he wasn’t showing signs of any…unorthodox late-night activities.

“I’ll fix it in a minute,” Kurt said, taking a tissue from Rachel and dabbing at the cut. “I must have hit my head in my sleep.”

_Anderson jumped from his chair, grabbed a stapler lying on his desk and threw it at him. It glanced off of his forehead, leaving behind a small red cut, welling blood._

_He didn’t lower his bow._

“Oh, and we have a new employee starting today,” Rachel said. “His name’s Blaine, he’s twenty-two and  _very_  cute in a Gene Kelly-esque kind of way, tan, dark hair, really nice eyes that make you feel warm and tingly inside-” _  
_

“No.”

“What?”

“You are not setting me up with the new employee, Rachel. No. No and no. I am not lonely, I am not unfulfilled, I do not need you to set me up on a blind date with some random new guy who  _works for me_.”

And then Kurt walked right into someone as he rounded the corner, knocking the papers they were carrying onto the floor and drawing an  _oof_  out of whoever it was he’d collided with. _  
_

“Kurt,” Rachel said happily, “this is Blaine. This is the new employee I was  _just_  telling you about. Blaine, this is Kurt Hummel, our revered CEO.”

Kurt looked at the guy he’d plowed into. And then looked again. Because,  _dammit_ , Rachel was right. He  _was_  cute. On the short side, neatly-styled dark hair, sharp jawline lined with the barest hint of stubble, bright, fall-coloured eyes; if fall  _had_  a colour. 

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt apologized, “I usually don’t make a habit of knocking down my employees on their first day.” He held out his hand, and Blaine shook it. “I’m Kurt Hummel. Welcome to my Fashion House. What do you do here?”

“Uh, I work in I.T., actually,” Blaine replied. “I graduated in Musical Performance and did a teaching diploma, but there weren’t any jobs, so…here I am.”

Kurt smiled. “Excellent. May I show you to your office? It’s the least I can do after almost running you over with my poor sense of direction and complete disregard for the other people who work in this building.”

Blaine grinned back at him. “That would be great! If you don’t mind, you must be really busy….”

“No, not at all,” Kurt insisted. “Follow me.”

He led Blaine to the elevator, then pressed the button for the fourth floor - the IT department. On the ride down, he asked Blaine what it was in IT that he did.

“Web design, software, social media, all of those things.” Blaine explained. “Basically, I’m here to help promote your business and your image and make sure it’s out there as much as possible and that people take notice. Not that you have a lot of work to do in that respect. I’ve been following Hummel Inc., for almost a year now, I love your clothes and your brand. I was actually thinking of wearing one of your designs today, since it was my first day, but I thought it might look like I was trying too hard.”

Blaine liked to talk, evidently. But Kurt found himself  _wanting_  to listen. 

When the elevator came to stop, Kurt once more led the way, Blaine following behind obediently. He was still talking. “I admire you so much, Mr. Hummel. The hard work and energy and commitment you put into your business and your company is incredible. Everyone speaks so highly of you and I am  _honoured_ , truly, to have the opportunity to work for you.”

 _Is he for real?_  Kurt thought as they reached the rows upon rows of spacious cubicles where the IT guys (and girls) did their work.  _Everything he says sounds completely genuine. And in fashion, that’s really hard to come by_. Blaine didn’t seem superficial or a suck-up at all. He really was happy to work here. 

It made Kurt think twice about first impressions. And cute IT guys with a smile brighter than the set lights they used on photoshoots. 

“Here you are,” Kurt announced, showing Blaine to a small but cosy cubicle on the third row down. It was white with chrome fittings on the desk and chair, a smart-looking computer turned on and ready to be put to work. “Feel free to make the place yours. There’s no hard and fast rule on knick-knacks and decorations here, I know how difficult it is to settle in at a new job, so go ahead and make yourself at home. If you need anything, ask Angela, she’s our head of IT and although she seems scary, she really isn’t. She’ll answer any questions you might have. All good?”

Kurt turned to Blaine, who looked slightly nervous at being left alone so soon. In sympathy, Kurt put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Blaine. Don’t worry about it. And if anyone hassles you, just report them to me or to Rachel, and I’ll deal with them.”

“Thank you,” Blaine squeaked out. He cleared his throat, his face flushed pink with sudden embarrassment. “I think I got it.”

“Good. I guess I’ll see you around.”

Blaine nodded. “I guess you will.”

***

All of five minutes after he’d sat down at his brand new desk in his brand new office - well, office  _cubicle_  - Blaine’s cell phone rang somewhere in the region of his thigh. He’d put it in his pocket and had honestly forgotten about it; he pulled it out now, glancing at the caller ID, which read  _Dad Work_. Which made him stop and think for a moment, because his father never called him on his cell phone, much less from his office at work, and never during the day. And he’d definitely never called at 10:16AM, before he’d even had his second cup of coffee.

Lawyers worked on a schedule. His father wasn’t adhering to his. 

Reluctantly, Blaine answered it. “Dad?”

“Blaine, hi. I wanted you to be the first to know - there was a break in at the office last night.” There was a pause, and Blaine heard his father swallow loudly, the sound betraying his discomfort. “The Vigilante paid me a visit, made all kinds of accusations, none of them true of course…”

His dad kept talking, but Blaine’s blood had run cold.. The New York City Vigilante had been causing havoc across the city for months now, targeting the elite, the rich and the prominent, breaking into their homes and places of work, shooting them with arrows and making threats. So far, dozens had been injured, harassed, been burgled, or threatened by him - the media were sure it was a “him”. Three people had been killed. 

“…and I should get the window of the office fixed in no time, so there’s no harm done, really, everything is fine, but I wanted you to be the first to know in case you heard any rumours or hearsay about what had happened. Are you listening to me? Blaine?”

“Oh, um - yeah, I’m listening. I’m sorry you got attacked.” Blaine sat up a little straighter, his brow knotted with worry. “Does Mom know?”

“No. And I’d rather she not find out about it. It’ll only upset her to know that a lawbreaking hoodlum is after me.”

“I have to get to work, dad. But I’m sorry about your office.”

“Well, I can tell you’re not really interested so I’ll say goodbye now. Goodbye, Blaine. Work hard and impress your boss - Kurt Hummel, is it?”

“Yes, dad.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Blaine pressedthe  _End_  button harder than he meant to and dropped his cell onto the desk. His heart beat loudly in his ears. Talking to his father always left him with a strange knotting sensation in his stomach, even more so now that he’d learned that his father had been visited by the Vigilante. But of course he’d done nothing wrong to warrant such a visit… _  
_

He shook his head fiercely and turned toward his computer. He had work to do, and he didn’t want to disappoint Kurt Hummel on his very first day.

***

Kurt couldn’t stop thinking about Blaine. 

Everything from his open, friendly face to his shining, polished shoes had caught Kurt’s interest, making him eager to learn more about his newest employee. Blaine was like a breath of fresh air, music to Kurt’s ears, a welcome change after long years of the same people, the same routines, the same work and the same clients and the same colleagues. In an industry that seemed to be always changing, you’d be surprised how much things stagnate, how much things freeze and grow stale over time. 

And then there was Blaine.

Several times that day, Kurt had racked his brains to find any possible excuse to go down to the fourth floor; his computer wouldn’t turn on, the screen had frozen, he didn’t know how to Google search. (He did, of course, but that wasn’t the point. The point was being able to talk to Blaine again.) Every time, he stopped himself, reigning in his wild imagination and forcing himself to say in his office chair, to concentrate on the hundred and one things he had to do that day and not let his mind wander.

But he toed the line and stayed in his office, mostly, leaving only go get lunch when he was too hungry to work any longer without giving himself a headache. He was tempted to go the fourth floor to check in on Blaine and see if he wanted anything, but he resisted; some people didn’t like it when their bosses checked up on them too often, it made them nervous. Maybe Blaine was like that. Kurt went straight down the lobby anyhow, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs and get some air, even if that air was full of the fumes and pollution of hundreds of cars, taxis, and buses.

As he waited in line at the bakery across the street, he caught snippets of conversation.

“Hey, did you hear that Anderson and Griffiths got attacked last night?”

“I heard it was the Vigilante…”

“…broke in through the window and shot an arrow at him, it’s all over the news…”

“….of course he’d denying that there’s any truth to the accusations that he’s been embezzling client funds…”

“…..I reckon this Vigilante did everyone a favour…”

It was all anyone could seem to talk about. A high-profile lawyer gets threatened by a masked criminal with a bow and arrow and you’d think there was no other gossip to keep people occupied, the way it dominated every topic of conversation he could hear within the small radius of the bakery.

Kurt bought himself a large coffee with extra caramel syrup and a large blueberry and lemon muffin, fresh from the ovens and smelling divine. Clutching his coffee in one hand and the muffin in a brown paper bag in the other, he made his way back to Hummel Inc., stopping to chat with Sophia, the woman who manned the reception desk, on his way to the elevators. 

He’d just sank down into his office chair once more and taken his muffin out of its paper bag when Rachel bustled in, looking harried.

“We have a situation." 

Kurt paused, coffee halfway to his lips. "What kind of situation?”

“One of the models for the Fall promotional shoot didn’t show up. The photographer is now insisting that the whole layout of the shoot has been compromised and is demanding you find him a replacement or he’ll walk out. And he doesn’t do refunds.”

Kurt put his coffee down and scrubbed a hand viciously through his hair. “Shit.  _Shit_. Okay, Rachel, stall him and I’ll see if anyone else can fill in for the missing model. If not…well, I’ll think of something. Just  _stall him_  while I make some phone calls, okay? And drink my coffee. I need coffee if I’m going to deal with an irate photographer.”

 _Oh, today is just getting better and better_ , Kurt thought bitterly as he reached for his desk phone, the numbers of three modelling agencies already at the front of his mind.  _First I can’t stop thinking about the cute new IT guy, and now I have to deal with a potential disaster with one of my photographers because someone decided they weren’t going to show up to a shoot today._

_Why did I decide to set up my own fashion house again?_

Luckily, he was spared any further difficulties when the second agency he contacted was able to send in another model that met the criteria the photographer had requested; medium-to-tall height, slim build, light complexion. 

He put the phone down and let out a deep sigh of relief. 

 _Crisis averted_. He took a long gulp of rapidly cooling coffee and a large bite out of his muffin, grateful for the tangy lemon and sugary sweetness. It rejuvenated his worn-out mind and kept him alert; he still had four hours until the building closed for the night, though the rest of his employees would finish earlier, at five-thirty instead of six-thirty. Sometimes he was even at the office until seven or later, working on last-minute tasks and making sure everything was ready for the next day.

Being the founder and CEO of a successful multi-national business was far from easy. But Kurt would be lying if he said he didn’t love it - 90% of the time, anyway.

***

_Roland Griffiths didn’t so much as flinch when he lifted his bow and pulled the string taught, aiming directly for his left shoulder._

_“I’m not scared of you,” he panted out, “You can’t touch me!”_

_“Really?” he challenged. He lifted his bow higher. “Are you sure about that, Griffiths? I should warn you; I never miss.”_

_“You wouldn’t dare,” Griffiths said. “You wouldn’t dare to hurt me, not when I’m powerful enough in this city that it would only take a few words and I could have you arrested.”_

_“Is that so?” he asked. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”_

_He let the arrow fly. It sprang from the bow and sank into Griffiths’ shoulder, spraying a thin arc of blood and causing the other man to yell in pain, clutching his arm._

_“Let that be a warning.”_

_He stepped back through the door, torn off its hinges by the force of his entrance, and slipped out of sight, leaving Roland Griffiths with an arrow in his shoulder and a clear message to behave himself, or next time he’d find himself with more than one arrow in his body_.

***

Kurt didn’t see Blaine again that day until it was time to leave. He was on his way to the vending machine to get a bottle of water when he spotted him coming down the hallway, brown leather satchel over his shoulder, shoes squeaking on the floor. When he saw Kurt, he smiled.

“How was your first day?” Kurt asked, when he was in earshot. 

“Great,” Blaine said. “Really great. Everyone was really nice, and I have so many ideas - I could show you them, sometime, maybe, when you’re not busy, though I would assume that you are and that you don’t have a lot of time on your hands. But some of the things I’ve come up with could really help you expand the company even further than it’s already going.”

“I’m glad to hear that, and I’d love to hear some of your ideas, but right now, you look like you need to head home.”

“I actually am kinda tired,” Blaine admitted. “Is it obvious?”

“No,” Kurt replied. “But I have a unique intuition when it comes to my employees."  _Especially ones as cute as you_ , his brain added unhelpfully. He ignored it. 

"Well, have a nice evening, Mr. Hummel,” Blaine said, turning to leave. 

“You too, Blaine,” Kurt nodded.  _Why was this man’s friendliness so infectious?_

He watched him turn a corner and get into an elevator; then the doors slid shut, and he was gone.  _  
_

Kurt picked up his water and went back to his office, trying to put the image of Blaine’s compact body in his neatly-pressed work pants and button-down shirt out of his mind. 

 _Employee_ , he reminded himself.  _He’s your_  employee.  _Don’t even think about him in that way._

 _It’ll only end badly for the both of you_.

***  
Kurt was almost ready to go home and turn in for the night, but first, he had to drop by his apartment and pick up a few things before heading out again on one last errand. Of sorts.

Taking the subway, he got off a few stops before he usually would and headed in the direction of a small, abandoned warehouse on the edge of a desolate-looking square mile of run-down apartment blocks, each more worse for wear than the last. Moving quickly, he slid through the the streets until he was at the east-facing side of the building. Night had fallen, heavy and thick over the city, and no-one would see him.

But that was the point.

He crouched down and retrieved a black drawstring bag that had been dumped in a corner, hidden out of sight of trespassers and nosy citizens. Next to the bag was a long, rectangular box.

A few minutes later, he was ready. 

He pulled up the hood of his jacket, covering most of his face, then reached down for the contents of the box. He opened it and drew out a bow and a quiver of arrows, which he strapped across his back with a thick leather belt. 

He had a few targets to hit tonight, and he wanted to have them dealt with quickly.

He turned in the opposite direction from which he’d come, and started running. 


End file.
